Drop It Like It's Hot
by Sarcasm for free
Summary: The bass dropped and so did all the booties in the club. (Eight people, a lot of retro music, and one night that ends not quite like their usual group outings, at least for Jaime and Brienne.)
1. Jaime

_Hi and welcome to this fic. First things first, this is a Jaime/Brienne story with a lot of different pairings (of any kind) and characters thrown in. The inspiration for this was, surprise, Gwendoline Christie's dance style, and therefore this Modern AU!Brienne has a lot in common with her ;) And now, have fun!_

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 **Drop It Like It's Hot** **– (Jaime)  
**

The bass dropped and so did all the booties in the club.

"It's intentional. Female calculation at its finest."

"Those two, maybe. But Brienne?" Jaime canted his head to the side as if it would help him to make more sense out of the display before him. Shae and Margaery were rubbing on each other in a mix of grinding and twerking, not giving a fig how out of date the move was. Brienne, not even a meter away from them, was in a world of her own, doing what amounted to body rolls and headbanging. It was as if the girls were dancing to different beats.

Tyrion had to raise the volume of his voice to be heard by his brother. "She _is_ a woman, last I checked."

"On good days." Jaime was only listening with one ear; the other was poised to pick up the slightest sound of distress from his best friend, who was being danced at by two beefy guys who looked like their parents had fed them steroids since birth. Brienne didn't even see them, with her eyes closed and head thumping to the music. She was so naïve sometimes, he couldn't turn off the instinct to protect her from well-muscled, sun-kissed sleazebags with too many teeth. Why the fuck was Fabio grinning at her?

Oh. She did the hip swivel thing again. That's why.

"Still, an awesome view," Tyrion hollered from his barstool, the bendy straw of the fruity cocktail Shae had pressured him to order hanging out of his mouth.

"But…we, we shouldn't stare," Pod piped up from Tyrion's other side. Jaime had almost forgotten the lad, drawn in on himself to be as inconspicuous as possible. Well over twenty years old by now and still feeling out of his element wherever he went. Poor guy.

Tyrion swiveled round to the boy and sprinkled his shirt with a few droplets of blue liquid that still clung to the end of the straw. "The whole point is that we're looking."

"Not for Brienne," Jaime deadpanned.

"Of course, not Brienne."

Jaime boxed his brother in the shoulder, eyes transfixed on Brienne's wiggly hips. "I can hear your eyes roll."

"Sounds painful." Bronn sauntered up to them while pulling up his zipper. "Line in front of the men's toilets is as long as if every guy suddenly got cystitis. What did I miss?"

He ignored Pod's kindhearted, "Did you go to the doctor's with that?" and plopped down on the seat with his jacket.

The song switched to a pop-y number that sounded like the color pink looked. The strobes' lights cast the girls and every other dancer in neon. Brienne should have looked like a gigantic disco ball, but instead it gave her something fey. Skyscraper-tall, but fey.

"Our girls are trying to make us horny and jealous at the same time," Tyrion answered.

Bronn chose that moment to whistle through his teeth as Margaery bent almost in half, and Jaime rebuffed Tyrion's claim. "You are aware that they haven't so much as glanced in our direction once since they stepped onto the dance floor, right?"

His brother ignored the question, rhetoric as it was, and continued to enjoy the view. Jaime wasn't as enamored because sleazebag one and sleazebag two had started to inch closer to Brienne. Just when he was about to walk over there, a red flash dashed in between the guys and Brienne.

"Oh, Sansa's back from the bathroom too," Pod happily chirped.

Meanwhile on the dance floor, Brienne got play-spanked by Sansa, who was one hundred percent sober, no matter what Marge said, and Jaime suddenly thought he would have preferred Brienne in the middle of a guy-sandwich, because then, at least, he would have been allowed to storm over there.

As it was, he just crossed his arms over his lap and stared resolutely not at Brienne's ass getting slapped. There was something hypnotic about it.


	2. Margaery

**Drop It Like It's Hot II – (Margaery)**

The music was blearing and Margaery's behind fit, with not an inch to spare, into Shae's crotch.

"Is Tyrion still looking?"

"More than looking. He's slobbering." Margaery accentuated her laugh with a twerk. "So, what did he do now?"

Shae went on tippy-toes and rested her chin on Marge's shoulder, pouting. "He was stupid this morning."

While gyrating a bit more to make their sealed bodies undulate, the taller woman turned her head to the side to peer into Shae's eyes, laugh-lines crinkling her own. "Isn't that commonplace for him?"

The guys were in perfect check out direction. Their chairs were facing the dance floor, beaded in a row, their outfits trendy, and their mouths were constantly moving. They reminded her of the community center's production of _A Chorus Line_.

"He was _especially_ stupid this morning." Shae's lips were close enough to Marge's ear so that she didn't have to scream over the music to be heard. Not too much, at least. "I casually mentioned that time I was dating Sansa and he told me he was sad he wasn't there to witness my 'experimentation'."

Margaery's eyebrow rose. "So you're recreating it, for his viewing pleasure, with me, for as long as Sansa's peeing her four drinks out?" She grabbed the hand Shae had put on her hip and raised it above their heads to get her turning.

Shae was close-lipped until the pirouette was done, then pressed Margaery closer with both arms slung around her back. "Yes and no." Her pout was back in full force. "I want to punish him for making it sound like I didn't know what I like." She grinded, pelvis to pelvis with her friend. "The plan is to make him horny and leave him sleeping on the couch tonight."

It seemed to be working so far. At the bar, Tyrion had just put on the universal 'sex me up'-face of men all over the world. It didn't make him look smart, that was for sure. The bendy straw dangling out of the corner of his mouth enhanced the impression.

"Not that I'm complaining," she griped, petting Shae's ass. Over the girl's shoulder, it looked like Pod was choking and Tyrion had an aneurysm from sheer joy, their eyes riveted on said petted buttocks. "But I'm pretty sure he didn't mean it like that. For a diplomat, he has a habit of stepping into sandtraps left and right. It's Tyrion, after all."

Spinning them around, so Margaery was, once again, in front of her, Shae scream-whispered in her ear, "That's why he's only on the couch for one night."

From her prime vantage point, which meant ten inch heels and a clear view of the guys, Margaery spotted Jaime boxing his brother. In her peripheral vision, Brienne was doing the snake-move she herself had tried (and failed) to emulate on numerous occasions.

"You'll have to switch his couch-night to another day. Brienne's in the zone," she tilted her head at the blonde dancing next to them. "There will be a different Lannister sleeping on your sofa, wailing about 'wenches'."

And he had reason enough to, Margaery noted with a grin. Brienne's ass looked lovely tonight, thanks to her raiding the girl's wardrobe to find something suitable for a club. The white little number had been buried under five pairs of jeans and a monstrosity in pink her father had sent her. While jeans were very complementary for Brienne's legs and behind, it was not material suited for an establishment like _The Moon Door_. She wouldn't have gotten past the bouncer due to the dress code. And what a shame that would have been, she thought as Brienne undulated, akin to a Dornish belly dancer.

The two rakish bodybuilders next to Brienne seemed to be thinking along the same lines. They were shimmying closer and it caused Jaime to twitch so hard, it looked like a spasm from where Marge turned under Shae's raised arm.

Her dance partner had seen it too. "Should we help?"

In that moment, Sansa slid in between the strangers and Brienne, in one sinuous move that would have fit into _Risky Business_ and betrayed Sansa's level of intoxication. The girl was a lightweight.

"No, I think Sansa has the situation in hand," she smirked, commenting on Sansa spanking Brienne like they were actors in a rap video. All that was missing was a champagne shower.

"Looks like she intends to make it a hat-trick," Shae smiled into Marge's neck, to which the other woman sighed, nostalgic, "Oh, those lovely summers in Highgarden," before breaking into a laugh again.

Opposite of them, the other girls were also caught in a fit of laughter, twisting and turning around each other while Brienne's unintended background dancers made the impression of deciding between slinking off and taking a chance on a foursome.

"Pod, come dance with us!" Sansa's enthusiastic screech was so loud, the remix of Madonna's greatest hits sounded quiet in comparison.

The two adonises took that as their cue to back away. Too much sausage for them, apparently. Wussies.

With the trio now dancing in a roundel to her left, Margaery indicated to her own dance partner that she wanted to take a break. Her Louboutins were marvelous but not made for hours of dancing.

She hobbled up to the bar, in a very dignified way, where she sat herself upon Bronn's thigh and slipped out of her shoes, letting her feet dangle a few centimeters above the sticky ground. His arms snaked around her waist to stop her from sliding off. "Careful, missy."

"I don't really need the help. I'm a pro at sitting on people's laps, thank you very much," she chirped and patted the hand on her stomach.

"Yeah, I remember. It's one of your greatest talents." She couldn't see Bronn's lewd grin but it was more than noticeable in his voice, which in turn made her smile to herself. They were currently off, but she gathered they would be official again the instant grandmother got over her newest attempt to set Margaery up with some attorney's son.

"Give my grandmother three more days and then take me out to dinner." She gyrated on Bronn's thigh and raked her nails over the back of his hand.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw how Shae continued her complicated metaphorical dance of turning Tyrion on while simultaneously giving him the cold shoulder. Margaery couldn't wait to hear how it turned out the next morning at brunch with the girls.

Seeing Jaime brood at the end of the line of guys was a bit of a dampener on Marge's mood. "Why don't you get up there and dance with them? I haven't seen you shaking your hips tonight." What she meant, of course, was, _Why don't you, finally, put the moves on Brienne?_ But the two of them were still so skittish about the potential of their obvious big grand love story, so Marge kept that thought to herself.

Jaime squirmed in his seat. For the unobtrusive spectator it might have looked as if his ass was getting numb from the uncomfortable bar stool, but for Marge it was clear: The man had a boner. The reason wasn't hard to catch either. Brienne's boisterous laugh could be heard over drums and bass, and Jaime twitched again.

"No, I'm fine. Wouldn't want to intrude." He wasn't overly convincing, with all that focused staring and the quiet sighing going on.

He was good, Marge had to give him that. There was no stutter, no quivering voice, and no hand sneakily put into a trouser pocket. It was pathetic how accustomed he was to hiding his reactions to Brienne.

Nicely buzzed and cuddled by sturdy arms, Marge felt magnanimous. "Fine by me. Gives us the time to talk about the gala on Friday." He looked confused – good. "Grandmother was adamant that you continue your discussion about the prices of your shipping company or she's threatening to hire another firm." His eyebrows drew together and he stopped squirming, with the unease she was accustomed to seeing on people's faces when her grandmother was mentioned. "Just keep an eye out, she's not in the best of moods since you increased your fees." And _there_ was the look of pure panic and the absolute stillness of body she loved to see.

"You know, I think I could do one dance."

She nodded sagely. "You do that, sweetie."

And as she watched Jaime approach Brienne, whose face lit up like the disco ball above her head when she saw him, Bronn whispered, husky and raw, "You're a devious mastermind," and Margaery concurred.


	3. Brienne

**Drop It Like It's Hot III – (Brienne)**

This night was _incredible._

Initially, Brienne had claimed fatigue when Margaery had approached her with her plan for the evening. Clubs were usually not her scene, bad memories and all that. In the end, she had only been won over by the fact that everyone was coming along. That was, as she was well aware, an age-old trick to get hermits to leave their caves, because no one wanted to be the single loser left out (she had enough experience being that loser, so no, thanks, never again if she didn't have to). Still worked like magic, though.

Now, contorting around her own axis and headbanging, she couldn't resent Marge for pressing her so hard to leave her heaps of unwashed dishes behind and instead party the night away.

Because, again, this night was incredible.

The DJ had a nice repertoire, containing old-school, pop, and rock songs; nobody had laughed at her dance moves so far – on the contrary – and she was on the right side of buzzed to not care a bit even if someone was snickering behind her back. Not to forget, her friends were in high moods too.

Pod's hand in her left, Sansa's in her right, they recreated the Gordian knot with their limbs. Running in a circle while holding hands had, in the end, led to dizziness, so upright Twister it was.

"Is there room for a fourth? If not, I'd like to cut in."

Jaime's voice made her look up, and in her bubble of giddiness, she just grinned at him; grinned at her best friend, decked out in casual wear and shiny like a god in neon. However, when she felt a trickle of sweat rolling down her back, she was reminded how she must look, flushed and sweaty, and felt the familiar stirrings of shame. Thankfully, the sangria kicked in, not a second too late, and she remembered that he'd seen her in worse conditions. The Great Gastro Flu Incident of 2017 came to mind.

Before she could pull Jaime into their midst, Pod nodded, wide-eyed but smiling, and danced Sansa a few turns to the right, squirreling her away so they could continue to meld with each other into one big human ball.

Brienne turned to Jaime, hoping to see his typical grin in place to diffuse the awkwardness of having been deserted so fast and left as a twosome. Dancing had never featured into any of their trips and meetings together. Either they would harmonize like a perfectly strung violin, or crash and burn, with a few broken bones thrown in. There really wasn't middle ground for them, history had taught her.

"So," Jaime hedged, "dancing?" It was unfair how cute he looked, even when obviously out of his element. Brienne could feel her face crinkle. For someone who came of his own free will, he looked mighty uncomfortable. She threw a look over her shoulder. He had never said for whom he wanted to cut in.

Great. He wanted to dance with Sansa and was instead stranded with her.

Her self-esteem went poof and crawled back into the furthest corner of her being, cowering in close embrace with her cheerfulness that had fucked off as well.

"You know, I think I need a break." But her attempt to skirt around Jaime and sprint to the bar, into the safety of the group, was hindered by Jaime's left hand around hers. He hadn't grabbed her, not pressed fingers around her upper arm or wrist like a lot of men had done when they wanted to keep her in place. He just took her hand, loosely and almost not enough.

"No running away. We've never danced together. It's long past due." He threw a glance she couldn't discern at the bar, where Margaery and the others seemed to be playing a drinking game involving a lighter and a banana they'd stolen from the bartender. But since the look lasted only a millisecond, Brienne didn't question Jaime about it.

Instead, they danced.

Or tried to.

It wasn't as bad as the usual crash and burn situations, nobody had broken a toe so far, but it was awkward.

So, so awkward.

Brienne bit her lip and stepped from one foot to the other. Gone were her carefree attitude and her acrobatic moves. All she had left in her were box-steps and nodding.

At least it fit Jaime's swaying back and forth. Drunken mid-teens at a basement party were more coordinated than them and would have made a more compelling picture.

The music drowned out the sigh she could see Jaime heaving but it couldn't mask the aggregately asked, "What happened to your grace, wench? Or is it reserved for walking boobs and human puppies?"

She overbalanced at his words, but caught herself at the right moment and stopped moving. "I could ask you the same. Where's the guy who does mixed martial arts in his free time?" She pointedly stared at his locked knees. Flexibility looked different.

He evaded her eyes, choosing to focus on the strobe machine positioned at the wall behind her. "Point taken. And what a good one at that." Grabbing blindly, he took her right hand in his left. "We obviously went the wrong way about this. Let's fight, milady."

Before she could interrupt him, he held his prosthesis up to ward off her unspoken objection. "What I mean is, let's dance like we fight. We stop thinking that we have to do the rumba or play Snoop Dog and his bitch, or whatever it was Tyrell and Shae were doing, and do our usual thing. What do you say, worth a try?"

"Sounds like a lot of work. Wouldn't you prefer to snatch a partner with whom you don't have to put so much effort into for a single dance?" She pointed vaguely with her free hand at the corner in which Sansa was doing the pogo while Pod tried to evade her elbows.

Despite the vagueness of her gesture, Jaime caught her meaning. "First, answering a question with another question is bad manners, haven't you heard? Second, I don't mind having to work for it, if I deem it for a worthy cause. And third, Sansa's nice but she's not the one I _want_ to make that effort for." His eyes were pinched but trained on her.

Jaime tugged on the fingers still enclosed in his and pulled her as close as he could without smashing their genitals together. "Into fighting position, come on."

Brienne didn't know if it was the DJ's sudden switch from the newest chart hit to _Kung Fu Fighting_ or her inner compulsion to not be outdone by Jaime in anything remotely like martial arts, but the beat ran through her marrow and bones.

Leg tucked up as if for a kick, step back, dodge, turn, ducking under a swinging arm. They ran through every match they ever had, through all the typical moves their muscles had memorized and were recalling right now. And what it amounted to wasn't teenaged stumbling or a serious fight with the intention to hit a mark. It was perfect harmony in motion.

In one fluid stretch, Brienne bent backwards in half to have Jaime's forearm whiz above her, and he extended his prosthetic hand in the same second so she could use it to propel herself upwards and spin around him.

As the last melodic fighting scream faded, Brienne became aware of her surroundings again. It was hard not to when thunderous applause echoed in the room. People had stopped their own dancing, had scrambled up to the outer rim of the dance floor, and now were clapping, stomping and whistling. Brienne spied Sansa on Pod's back, hollering like there was no tomorrow and startling the poor boy with an impulsive kiss on the cheek, as the rest of their group stood on their seats and the bar counter, screaming their lungs out about how awesome Jaime and Brienne were. Her friends were _loud_ and _weird_ , and she loved them even more for that reason, but this was still embarrassing.

"Oh god," Brienne half-sighed in horror, half-laughed, ready to bury her face in her hands, but an arm slung around her waist made her face her partner instead.

"None of that bashful hiding," Jaime murmured close to her ear in the increasing silence, as the ruckus died down and the DJ fumbled with his next track. "We were great."

She lowered her hands and stared at his profile, illuminated in the still shining disco lights, and stopped trying to suppress her smile. "We're a good team, occasionally."

"We could be one permanently."

Brienne did a double-take. What she saw wasn't an over-bright grin or an elbow poised for a comradely nudge in the ribs to get in on the joke.

The hand on her hip still wasn't constricting or pressing. It lay gentle and caressing, and was ultimately what made her understand the seriousness of his suggestion.

As the first notes of a slow number blared through the loudspeakers, Brienne turned around in Jaime's arms, and smiled.

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 _Thank you for reading! Comments, likes, and bookmarks are always appreciated :)_


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